


The Guardian Angel --- PAUSED

by Firgolfin, pixiedurango



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heartache, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love Triangle, Lyrium Withdrawal, Romance, Swearing, Tags will be updated as the Story continues, evtl smut, nausea/vomit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5072356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firgolfin/pseuds/Firgolfin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiedurango/pseuds/pixiedurango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had not been at the conclave? If you'd never become the Inquisitor?"</i>
  <br/>
  <i>"I'd still be here. Well, maybe not *here*. But I'd be down in the barracks with the other volunteers. I couldn't just sit idle."</i>
  <br/>
  <i>"No, I don't imagine you could."      -  Cullen & the Inquisitor</i>
</p><p>The young elf Firgo Lavellan is sent to the conclave, but caused by an unexpected delay, she comes too late–only to see the explosion from afar. Witnessing death, fear, demons and a massive rift in the sky, she decides to stay and joins the Inquisition as a recruit, willing to face whatever may come.  She is, however, not prepared of crushing into the man that will be her Commander-and probably the love of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An odd situation

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a collaboration with my lovely friend [pixiedurango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiedurango/pseuds/pixiedurango).
> 
> It's a series of related short stories featuring her Inquisitor [Arya Trevelyan](http://archiveofourown.org/series/235872) and my elf Firgo Lavellan as Non-Inquisitor.  
> It's also related to her story [Chronicles of a dead man](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4784594/chapters/10946582), in which Arya still struggles with her feelings for two men - Cullen and Blackwall.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and the Inquisitor are on their way to Val Royeaux, where they hope to find Blackwall, the traitor. Lavellan is one of the guards which accompany them, and she aches to find out what's going on between her leaders.

* * *

 

The ride to Val Royeaux was hard and fast, the days long and exhausting, and Firgo Lavellan was as bored as her arse was sore from the endless sitting in the saddle.

They rode after that Grey Warden Blackwall, but she didn't exactly know why and what he had done. They spoke from betrayal, from lies, a wrong name and a possible huge damage for the Inquisition. Whatever it was, she wasn't happy about the situation at all, for she liked the beardy man. He'd always been respectful, friendly, never mocking about her origin, not once had called her knife-ear or other nasty things. Unlike so many others.

Well, she hadn't any influence of what the leaders of the Inquisition would decide if they found him, so she tried to concentrate herself more on her actual duties.

As an Inquisition's guard, her main tasks were simpler: to protect her superiors, to watch the roads, searching for potential dangers or ambushes... but she found herself staring at the Commander instead. Again.

Not that he ever saw _her_ , of course. Commander Cullen was riding alongside the Inquisitor nearly all the time, and Firgo asked herself if he did it out of duty–she was the Herald of Andraste after all and he had to protect her at any cost–or if there was more behind it.

There had been lots of rumors spreading in the barracks for some time. She wasn't sure if they held any truth at all, but she intended to find out. Though she wasn't quite sure if she _really_ wanted to know. It would hurt, she knew it, and yet she couldn't help herself but observed the both of them closely, searching for any hints in their behavior that would tell her in which relationship they stood to each other.

Her heart sank with each passing hour. Yes, it definitely would hurt.

There... _was_ truth in what the soldiers gossiped.

Whatever was going on between Cullen and Arya Trevelyan, it was more than just a professional relationship–and more than friendship. The way he looked at her, it was... different from what she knew of him. She'd never seen him like this before: his expression wasn't as stern and determined as it used to be, it _changed_ whenever he was at her side, became softer, caring, but most of all–sad. _He looks at her the same way I look at him,_ she thought and smiled, wondering if she was as readable as her Commander.

She sighed. Sure, she was. Hiding her feelings had never been one of her strengths. And it wasn't the commander's, either. In fact, it was written all above his face.

Both, Inquisitor and Commander looked worn out, stressed and tired. Not at all like she shining stars and untouchable leaders of the Inquisition, but more human, vulnerable. Cullen's hair seemed messier than it used to be, and Arya was pale, she didn't wear any make-up and her eyes were so swollen and red that Firgo could even see from the distance that she had wept. Probably a lot. She looked so sad, almost broken, shoulders hanging deep. Yet still both were surrounded by an aura of strength and authority.

And then there were these rare moments, where the Inquisitor, who was mostly staring into the void and brooding, gave Cullen a little smile, and whenever this happened, his eyes seemed to brighten up, if only for a moment, when he smiled back. Yes. There was _clearly_ something going on between them. She wondered if they were aware that anyone could see it?

Or wasn't that true at all? Maybe it was only her who could see so clearly? Because she felt the same?

Oh maker, _that_ smile. Her stomach fluttered and felt full of butterflies suddenly.

It was an odd situation: The Commander obviously cared for the Inquisitor, but, and this was a fact everyone knew, Arya Trevelyan was–or had been–in a relationship with Blackwall, who however had betrayed them all. And now Commander and Inquisitor rode together and in an insane urgency to find (and save?) said man who she loved? Really… odd.

And she? Stupid little elf? Was hopelessly infatuated with that strangely beautiful, inaccessible man, her superior, her Commander, with whom she'd barely ever exchanged a private word.

 _I wish he would look at_ _me that way he looks at the Herald. At least once._

"You're doing it again," the voice of her companion ripped her out of her daydreaming and she winced, then snapped, "What?"

"You know what," Rocthar wiggled his eyebrows, "you're making heart eyes at Commander Curlyford."

"What? Hush! I… no I did not!" _Shit_ , what came over him to speak so loud? And couldn't he just _stop_ using this ridiculous nickname? He'd clearly spent too much time with Varric.

Her friend only grinned.

"Well," she grumbled, filling the silence between them, "as you 'd just stated so mindfully, he's our dear Commander, and I am supposed to protect him. Watching his back, you know."

"Yeah sure, of course."

 _Of course_. And there it was confirmed: she _was_ as readable as Cullen.

"Did you know that the Inquisitor sneaks into his tent at night?" Ariakus interfered with his usual lack of _any_ tact, and Rocthar inhaled sharply while Firgo's head flipped around and she stared at the mage, eyes wide.

" _What??"_ she gasped.

"Andraste's tits, man, you're so stupid!" Rocthar growled and gave him _that_ gaze that told the other man that he was close before punching him straight in the face.

"But it's true. I saw them last night during my shift and she–"

"Oh for fuck's sake, shut it!" the warrior snarled, and now he _really_ looked like he would punch his comrade every second, but Firgo raised her hand and waved impatiently, swallowing, she _needed to know_.

"Tell me," she said and hated that tremble in her voice that made her sound so vulnerable and weak. But then, these were her friends, after all. They knew literally everything about her.

Rocthar rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Well done, asshole," but Ariakus ignored him and lead his horse closer to Firgo's, then continued.

"Well, as I said, I saw her last night after the camp went to sleep and the guard shift was established. Mine was the second shift, and this was also when it happened."

"You're sure that it was her? And _his_ tent?" Firgo asked, "I mean, wasn't it dark? How can you be sure?"

"Oh, I _am_ sure. After she disappeared in Cullen's tent, I sneaked over and listened and they–"

"You did _WHAT_?" Rocthar's hand hit his own forehead with a loud smack. "Maker's breath, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Firgo just got paler and paler, suddenly not sure anymore if she really wanted to hear what her friend had to say.

"What?", Ariakus snapped back, "Can you please stop interrupting me? At least one time? _Thank you_. What I wanted to say is that I'm sure, because I did not only see them , but also listened and recognized their voices. And that there also didn't happen _anything_ between them. Firgo, they just talked."

A flicker of hope. "You're sure?"

"Yes I am. No worries, sweetie."

Rocthar snorted. "When this little pervert says so, I suppose you can believe him. I wouldn't wonder if he'd cut a hole in the tent and watched them as well."

Ariakus shot him a glare, then grinned.

"Oh no! You haven't...!" Rocthar blurted out, but he was grinning too, now.

"Made no sense," Ariakus said dryly, "it was too dark."

"Maker's breath," Firgo muttered under her breath and covered her eyes with her hands, "you're _impossible_. Both of you."

But she couldn't help herself but her lips stretched into a smile, too. Maybe, and it was a big maybe, there _was_ a chance after all.

A chance that, someday, Cullen would see _her_.

One could always dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It all started with an ingame dialogue between Cullen and the Inquisitor, in which he asked her if she ever wondered what would have happenend if she hadn't been at the conclave, and she answers that she believes she'd still be with the Inquisition-but down in the barracks.


	2. Forget him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Firgo Lavellan finds out that Commander and Inquisitor have spent the night together during their stay in Val Royeaux.

* * *

 

_Val Royeaux - The Inquisition's embassy_

 

Firgo was barely able to hold herself together as she rushed off the Commander's rooms. Closing the door behind her, she sank against the wall and let out a long held, shuddering breath. Clenched her hands into fists and pressed her lips together. She blinked hard–she did not cry. She. Did. Not. Cry.

It was true. It was really true.

Why was she so surprised?

She should have known it.

She should have believed it.

Bringing in his morning reports, she had seen the mess in the office with her own eyes. Rumpled clothes, scattered carelessly on the floor– _everywhere_. And it hadn't only been Cullen's, but also the Inquisitor's clothes. Maker, if she'd seen right, Arya Trevelyan's shirt had been _ripped apart_. Its black buttons lying as scattered as their clothes.

And his behavior when he'd stormed out the bedroom, blushed and embarrassed. _Caught_. And by the way, half naked. Maker's breath. No no no. Don't think of that now.

Commander and Inquisitor had spent the night together. And to still believe they'd only talked, the thought alone was so ridiculous that it almost made her laugh _. Oh yes, Commander, come one,_ talk _to me, rip my shirt off_. She snorted.

This whole journey was such a stupid shit, she hated every second of it by this time.

She had thought that they traveled to Val Royeaux to save Blackwall, or Thom Rainier or however he called himself now.

She had thought the Inquisitor was in love with that man. And although gossip had spread through the barracks for a long time now, until witnessing it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed that she also _fucked_ the Commander of her troops.

The holy _Herald of Andraste_! That stupid title. Whose terrible idea had that even been? As if she was chosen, or whatever... who could the believe that? Gods, creators, all the same. None of them even existed!

Yet still... Somehow she admired, looked up to Arya Trevelyan. She was, after all, their leader. And–beyond doubt–a _great_ leader. The desicions she'd made had always been honest, well considered and, for her part, right. She fought for a good course, never hesitated to throw herself in danger. Tried to save the world. And most of all, she'd helped people, no matter who they were.

She sighed. But then again... what was this? What did that woman think? What was Cullen for her? A backup man? Some kind of consolation? And why would he agree in whatever strange arrangement that was?

Or was she done with Blackwall already? Wasn't she here to save him at all, but only to watch his punishment with her own eyes?

Questions and even more questions were spinning around in her head, and she couldn't find the answer for a single one of them. She felt sad and dizzy and angry and just... awful.

And she hated Val Royeaux.

And she hated that she still had feelings for this man who was her Commander.

Ah, she just hated _everything_ right now. Probably her own naivety the most.

She wished she knew what was going on between the three of them, Cullen _and_ Arya _and_ Blackwall. But she just knew _nothing._ Only that apparantly everyone fucked with... everyone.

Ah, and there was another thing she knew for sure.

There _had_ never been a chance for her and there _would_ never be a chance for her. Stupid, Firgo.

She had to forget about Cullen.

She was done with him.


	3. With a little help from my friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firgo Lavellan gets a new assignment. Obviously she has volunteered for something concerning Commander Cullen… funny thing: she has no idea that she even signed up….

 

* * *

 

 _'_ _Firgo, you gotta report in to the Seeker immediately!'_ She realized she should have paid more attention to Ariakus' smirk when he had set her off to Cassandra Pentaghast. Now it was too late and she literally squirmed when she stood in front of the desk on which the dark haired warrior was sitting. Stern face and severe voice as always. _Cassandra was intimidating!_

"So, Lieutenant... Lavellan." she began, having to check her name on the parchment in her hand. "First of all, I personally want to thank you for volunteering in this matter. I know it's not like the usual assignments and nothing to earn too much field-glory but I would not have created that position if it was not absolutely necessary at the moment." Firgo tried hard. Like _really_ hard! But she understood next to nothing. She had not assigned to anything. Let alone for some obscure volunteers thing. She _never_ would do anything like that! Especially not if it included to have to report directly to superiors higher than necessary. Keeping herself away from trouble by any means had always been her main goal. And dealing with the higher ranks usually meant trouble. _A lot!_

But she could not ask Cassandra and even less flinch and flee now. Obviously someone had signed her up for something and she already knew which asses she would have to kick for that. _Makers balls!_ Dragged into an assignment most probably meant problems, a lot of stress, hard work and as little fun as possible. Cassandra Pentaghast was not known to be the most fun person around Skyhold. And there was no way out. Firgo showed a blank face that did not show that she was all but thrilled about being here and obviously in charge for something from now on. Her mind was raging. She would kill those two crazies!

In the meantime Cassandra had continued her speech. Firgo knew she would get her assignment written down on a scroll later so she didn't pay too much attention.

Until the name "Cullen" dropped.

In an instant Firgos ears were burning and she was sure her face was already as red as an overly ripe tomato.

And she payed attention! Like she never had paid attention before.

When the Elfen Guard finally understood what her assignment included, she felt like she needed to sit down somewhere. Or have a drink. Probably both.

She _definitely_ would kill Rocthar and Ariakus. Slowly and cruel!

But for now she had to focus. Finally listen to what the Seeker had to say. If Cullen was involved she had to be even more sure that she would not mess up. Firgo couldn't imagine worse than failing anything that had to do with the Commander.

Once he had caught her off guard. Catching her speechless, embarrassed and surprised on this morning in Val Royeaux. Well, not that he had noticed who she was and that she was completely flustered, because he had been in panic himself. She had been bringing in his morning tea and the first reports when she had caught him storming out of his sleeping room, barely dressed in his breeches and picking up his and the Inquisitors clothes in a desperate haste from all over the office floor. Stuttering excuses while she had been standing there close to faint from embarrassment and the strange excitement of seeing him bare chested and with messy out of bed hair.

She had not even told Rocthar and Ariakus of what had happened this morning because Cullen had not only asked her name but had been almost begging her to keep this compromising secret to herself.

Of course she had agreed and of course she had kept her word. The heartache that was like a painful sting when ever she thought about what obviously had happened in there was for her alone to keep. No one to speak about what she learned that morning: The Inquisitor sleeping with Cullen. While on a mission to rescue Blackwall, the man she had committed herself to.

It was painful and confusing and Firgo still did not know what to think about it. She didn't know either the Inquisitor, Cullen or Blackwall very well, but she cared a lot about Cullen beside she had an enormous crush on him, too. What did those people think? She had no idea. Only sometimes she wished she could be in Aryas place and she really knew for sure if he had been with her, he would never have to share her with another.

Firgo had to drag her thoughts back on her new assignment. The mere mention of Cullens name had been able to distract her so badly, she had to force herself back to the here and now. It was definitely no good idea being caught off guard by the Seeker herself!

_What now?_

The more she listened, the less Firgo understood. What kind of assignment was this? She seemed to have been promoted (if it was a promotion after all...) to be Cullens Adjutant. Which - beside the nice and important sounding title - basically meant nothing more than taking his meals from the kitchen and making sure he _eats_ them.

 _Ridiculous_! The whole thing was ridiculous! _He was a grown ass man!_ Her counting the spoons she puts into his mouth? Literally feeding him? Maybe even playing _'_ _There comes the dragon..._ _'_ while making him eat his porridge? Firgo almost snorted when she imagined exactly this. Not that she would not have given _a lot_ just to sit down and eat with him, but like this? Like a nanny? Pfffft! He would fucking _hate_ her, that was all!

"Listen, Lieutanant." Cassandras voice cut back into her consciousness. "The Commander is a man who takes his duties very serious."

"I know, Seeker Pentaghast." Firgo managed to reply.

"Sometimes maybe too serious. _In a good way._ But beside duty and work, everyone needs to take rest." It sounded odd to hear that from the duty driven Seeker.

"Yes... Ma’am." she was not sure what Cassandra wanted to tell her.

"You are aware of Commander Cullens past as a Templar, Lieutenant?" Casandra asked and Firgo copied that with some hesitation. _What was this all about?_ "And you are aware that usually Templars take Lyrium?" the Seeker resumed her inquiry.

"Yes, Seeker. There are Templars... I mean former Templars in our ranks. They get Lyrium from Inquisition supplies." she replied formal.

"Commander Cullen doesn't take it anymore. I must ask you to keep that information strictly confident."

"Aye, Seeker. Of course." Her thoughts were running. What the fuck had she gotten into? Confidential bullshit was the last thing she wanted to deal with. Even if she was interested in learning something new about Cullen, she was well aware that this knowledge and her new 'rank' made her a target more than she ever wanted to be one. She saw herself entangled into matters that were way beyond everything she ever wanted to be responsible for. It was maybe just a little thing but suddenly she felt the glimpse of understanding on how the Inquisitor must feel all this responsibilities so heavy on her shoulders... Gossip told, Arya had been an Apostate before becoming Herald and later Inquisitor... what a burden she had now, never been trained to be a leader and now having to save the fucking world! Firgo suddenly was relieved that it was not her who had to carry it!

Her green eyes were huge and she almost had to force herself not to hold her breath from everything that was just happening with her. She was excited and frightened at the same time but tried hard not to show it to the woman who was still sitting on her desk in front of her. Questions were rushing in and she could not help, she had to ask: "But I thought, Templars would die or get mad if they don't get Lyrium?" A sudden fear clenched around Firgos guts.

Cassandra frowned. She looked tensed and very serious. It was scary! "It is possible. But not inevitable. People can overcome their addiction and recover. But it is hard. The harder, if the circumstances are not.... _ideal_."

Now what was that supposed to mean?

"Is Commander Cullen sick?" Firgo bit her tongue _'Shut up! Don't be nosy! You'll get yourself into even more trouble the more you know!'_ But the words were out already and Cassandra raised a brow but answered while she shook er head slowly.

"He is just very... _busy_." she emphasized the word in a strange way like she had emphasized the word _ideal_ before. Firgo had no idea what to do with that information.

Wouldn't the Inquisitor not better be the one to take care of him?

Like lovers usually did? She could impossibly be _that_ busy! Why did Cullen suddenly needed an Adjutant? For taking his food from the kitchen and made him eat? She wanted to ask all this so badly but did not dare to do so. And so she let Cassandra resume: "Are you aware that you own now a position of huge responsibility?" she asked and Firgo had to hold herself not to snort out loud. She wondered if the warrior could hear her internal screaming. _Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_ But she forced herself to nod.

"Yes, Seeker."

"I need you to report weekly. Only to me or the Inquisitor herself you are allowed to speak about this matters, are we clear on that?"

"Of course, Seeker." Firgo felt she would faint if there would come more. She must have gone all pale and looking all frightened because when Cassandra now looked up and met her eyes, suddenly the stern look became way softer and Firgo for the first time ever saw, that behind the strong and unforgiving façade there had to be a caring soul and a probably sympathetic mind.

Cassandra must have seen, that this assignment scared the crap out of Firgo and she reacted: "Look, Lieutenant Lavellan, I don't ask you to act as if you are his nanny, but just keep in mind that proper food and reasonable resting times are necessary for Cullen to recover. He just needs some... _help_.“

"I understand." fucking LIE that she told, Firgo understood NOTHING!

But Cassandra seemed to be done with this briefing and rose from her desk as a sign that Firgo was dismissed. The Elf turned and was already half gone, when he Seeker addressed her once again.

"Lieutenant."

"Yes, Ma'am?" Firgo closed her eyes. She was soldier long enough to know that the unpleasant things often were served after one thought they'd been already dismissed.

"Prepare yourself that the Commander most probably will not be very... _happy_... to have you around. Be patient but don't let him talk you off. I'll check personally if you'll fulfill your orders as assigned. He is not the one who can put you off charge. Only Inquisitor Trevelyan or myself may do so."

Firgo took a deep breath. _'Wonderful! I'll be with him every day but he'll fucking hate me! I'm doomed!'_ "Understood, Seeker Pentaghast." she managed to say.

"Good then Lieutenant. And please, don't think bad of Commander Cullen. He had a rough time lately. Now you may go and resume your usual duties."

"Thank you, Seeker Pentaghast." the answers came without thinking, as she knew what was expected. But Firgos mind was already somewhere else. Rough time? What did Cassandra mean? Having the Inquisitor in his bed was considered a rough time? Again she had to prevent herself from snorting disdainful.

And how would she now kill the two assholes that had pushed her into the most fucked up assignment she ever had by signing her in without her even knowing it? Firgo sighed deeply.

_What an incredible pile of Druffalo shit!_


	4. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya Trevelyan has ended the relationship with Cullen, and he desperately tries to deal with it. In the meanwhile Lieutenant Firgo Lavellan is assigned to bring the Commander his daily meals - but then she finds him in a poor condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter** : lyrium withdrawal, nausea/vomit

* * *

 

Firgo balanced the tablet with both hands, carefully to not let the hot stew swap over the edge of the plate as she walked over the battlements to Cullen's tower.

She took a deep breath and straightened her back in order to prepare herself for his usual rejection. She was almost sure that he already disliked her as much as he disliked the fact that a lieutenant was ordered to bring him food three times a day–as if he couldn't take care for himself, and although she shared his opinion–he was a grown-up man after all, her heart dropped at that thought. Still, Seeker Pentaghast had given her the order personally, and she would follow it to the letter. Also, it was a chance to _see_ him. It was everything she would ever get, and so she took it. At least for now.

Still, it hurt. Some days she would enter the room, put the plate on his desk and endure his anger, the disgusted roll of his eyes, the snarled _thank you_ 's and, more often, _get out'_ s. And there were other days, days where she felt too weak, too vulnerable, and then she would just knock and give a call through the door before placing it on the ground and hurrying away.

It was an odd situation, for she knew that he somehow... felt the same. Not for everyone to recognize, but she watched him closely, and he obviously still struggled with his love for the Inquisitor as much as Firgo struggled with her secret feelings for him. If not more. No, _surely_ more, for he had been with her, then lost her. Firgo had never been with Cullen. Never even _really_ believed that there was a chance at all. 

It couldn't go on like this forever, that was for sure.

_I have to ask for another assignment... soon... somewhere far away from Skyhold._

But not yet. Ah, how often had she told herself that she was done with the Commander. How often had she planned about a transfer, only to procrastinate her decision again and again. She rolled her eyes. _You're really decisive, Firgo_.

Approaching the heavy wooden door now, she raised one hand while balancing the heavy plate on the other. Then hesitated as she heard the familiar sound of his voice. _Groaning_. An intimate noise, as if he wasn't alone, as if there was someone else...

 _Oh... no_. He wouldn't... he didn't... he... _oh, no_! Her stomach fell and so did the plate–almost. She grabbed it at the last moment with both hands, the stew swapped over and immediately soaked the piece of chocolate cake she had brought as a little surprise–she knew he liked sweet things.

Another groan came from the inside and Firgo stood perfectly still, holding her breath, listening, not willing to believe what she heard. Was he... with Arya again? No, that couldn’t be. If she wasn't completely wrong, the Inquisitor was wasn't even at Skyhold at the moment. Maybe with another woman? Another sigh seemed to confirm it–he _was_ with someone in there, and the sudden urge to throw the whole plate over the battlements and leave here and now overcame her. It was too much. Just too much...

Instead, she put the food on the ground in a perfectly sneaky motion, then turned around to hurry away, tears already forming in the corner of her eyes.

" _Maker, no..."_

She hesitated. _What?_

" _Please... make it stop... please..."_

What was happening in there? Forgotten about the stew, forgotten about her sadness she placed both hands on the wood and pressed her pointed ear against the door.

" _Please... I can't... Maker help me..."_

That was it. She pushed the door open, storming into the room–and froze in place.

"Cullen!", she gasped, forgetting about titles and etiquette, fear crawling into her heart and replacing every other thought, "oh, no, what...?" She gasped again.

Cullen wasn't with another woman. He was all alone, and he was on his knees, right in front of the desk, leaning heavily on his hands. His head was hanging down and saliva dropped from his mouth and dripped onto the floor, where a wet pool was forming already. The sharp smell of vomit and sweat and sickness filled the air, and Firgo's mouth dropped open and her heart jumped in sudden worry.

She closed the door quickly, then ran towards him and fell onto her own knees beside the large, trembling body, touching his back without further thinking. "Cullen... sir... Maker, what happened to–"

"Get _away_ from me!" he gasped and squirmed and moved away from her touch, causing himself to roll over and falling onto his bottom in a half lying, half sitting position.

"I'm... sorry!" Firgo flinched instantly, bringing some distance between them and knelt down on the floor. "Cullen," she tried again, trying to keep her voice low and comforting, yet sounded shrill in her own ears, "Cullen, what can I do?"

He bent over and coughed, then vomited again, and Firgo just stared at him, wide-eyed, fearful, helpless. Didn't dare to move closer again. Didn't _fucking_ know what to do.

Calm down. _Calm down_. You won't help him by spinning around.

"What can I–"

"Out!" he yelled now, saliva flew from his lips before he pressed them together, sweat dropped from disheveled hair and ran down his face. Which was still bent down.

"Alright..." she retreated further, carefully, pushing herself up again, "I'll... get you a healer," and she raised her hands in a calming gesture as he finally raised his head and stared at her, eyes widening, face as pale as ashes.

"What? No," he cried out, "No!"

"But you're sick. You need help!"

"I–no. I'll be fine," he still stared at her, with an expression somewhere between anger... and begging, "everything... will be fine. Just leave me be." His voice was raspy, the words blurred, and she wondered if he was in his right senses or not.

She bit her lip. "I–no. I won't."

Another groan. "You... _wha_ t? Oh Maker, _fuck it_ ," he snarled.

"Okay," she said quietly, kneeling down again. Calm down, _calm down. Think..._

"Don't need... a healer," he mumbled.

"Okay," she repeated. "Listen... how about, I won't get a healer, but I'll... stay? Just tell me what you need and I'll try to help you."

Before he could answer she heard footsteps, then a sharp knock at the door.

"Fuck," the Commander cursed again, but she was already on her feet and jumped towards the door. The doorknob in her hands, she looked over her shoulder just to see him shaking his head in a desperate, pleading motion. _Alright_. She opened the door just a few inches to stick her head out and almost hoped she would see Cassandra or the Inquisitor herself–either of them would know what to do. But it was only another messenger, and she swallowed and made her decision.

"What is it?" she snapped through the crack of the door. "The commander isn't to be disturbed at the moment!"

"Lieutenant Lavellan!" Jim saluted, "I've got some reports, which Commander Cullen wished to be handed to him as soon as possible– and only _personally_."

 _Oh, come on, man_. She narrowed her eyes and gave the man what she hoped was a severe look. "Does that mean you don't trust your Lieutenant of being capable to pass along some papers?"

The messenger blushed and stammered, "No. Of course not, but I have strict order–"

"Maker, just give it to me," and she literally ripped the papers out of his hand. "Now leave. The Commander is doing some important... calculations about the... red templar movements. Disturbing him, he'll have to start... anew." _Oh brain, can't you think of something better_?

But somehow it worked, and Jim walked away after a puzzled " _alright, lieutenant_ " and she briefly wondered about spreading gossip–not that it mattered much now–as she watched him leaving. She hadn't asked for a healer.

"Thank you," just a whisper, then she heard him moaning and he choked again. It sounded so very painful that her heart was about to break.

She nodded and bit her lip as she closed the door. Begging, pleading, even _praying_ silently to whoever would hear her that she'd made the right decision. That it was right to trust him and not calling for a healer. Still, she didn't know what happened to him, and to be honest, that frightened her the most. Was it the lyrium? She knew that he had stopped taking it, and she had also heard about the dangers and symptoms about lyrium withdrawal. That it could end in madness, or... death. She swallowed again. What if he... and she hadn't gotten a healer, and... oh Maker...

It was wrong. It was all wrong.

"Cullen, sir, I can't. I really should call–"

"I accept your offer," he interrupted her. "Stay. Lock... the doors."

She hesitated.

"Maker's breath, Lavellan, just _do_ it," he added sharply; she winced, then nodded.

_Trust him. Try to trust him._

"The keys are in... the drawer."

After locking the doors, she filled a glass of water, but he had to be moved up into a sitting position before being able to drink. "Can you sit up?" she asked carefully, "with my help, maybe?" She wouldn't touch him again mindless, but it also wasn't necessary. He groaned and pushed himself up, new sweat dropping down his forehead, back pressed against the desk and she handed him the glass carefully. Then sat down again, while he drank in small sips. His breathing had increased again, the small movement had obviously cost him all of his energy.

She swallowed and scrapped the idea of dragging him into his bed somehow–he wasn't in the state to climb the ladder, and she was far too weak to carry him.

She'd never seen him in such a weak state before. Always strong, always upright and determined. Always proud. But this, it touched something so very deep inside her. _Protect him_ , she thought, _I want to protect him_ , w _hatever the cost._

"Can I do anything else?" she asked, "you don't need, uhm, l-lyrium... or do you?"

"No!" he nearly choked on his water. "No lyrium!"

"Ah. I'm sorry..." Stupid, Firgo, stupid.

They sat in silence for a while then, only the heavy smell of sickness and his unsteady breathes and small moans and coughs filled the room, and Firgo felt utterly useless. Tried desperately not to cry again.

"There's a small pouch on my night table," he suddenly broke the silence, "with fresh herbs in it. I chew them and it... usually helps against the pain and the... nausea."

"Oh, of course," she nodded and was already on her feet to get what he had asked for.

"It came too fast... this time," he added hesitantly, "I–Maker, I wasn't even able to climb up the ladder myself."

"It _is_ the withdrawal, yes?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"I'll get your herbs."

How often had she thrown sneaky glances towards that _ladder_ and the trap door to where it leaded. Up into his sleeping chamber. She swallowed and tried to ignore the fact that she was about to intrude the Commander's most intimate and private place as she climbed up quickly. And yet, warmth spread in her belly as she saw his bed, the place where he _slept_ , and the sheets on it, carefully folded together.

Oh, stupid, concentrate!

She quickly gathered the pouch, then took a bunch of clean towels and dipped them into his wash basin. The water was cold and she would use it to try lower his fever. What else? She looked around, then took the blanket and pillow from his bed, and simply threw both through the hole before climbing back down.

The commander still sat where she'd left him, leaned against the desk and looked somewhat awful and utterly lost. But even now, covered in sweat, pale and sick, he was _beautiful_. He stared at her, and for a moment she just stared back, and there was something in his gaze, in this light brown eyes with their dark circles and crinkles around them, something beneath sadness, pain, loneliness. A brief flash of tenderness. A twitch in the corner of his lips. Or was that just her imagination?

Anyways, the bad smell hit her again and she hurried over to open the windows. A sharp blow of cold wind immediately began refreshing the air in the room and she took a deep breath. Then she kneeled down before the Commander again and handed him one of the towels and his herbs. He wiped his mouth clean then, while she was trying to clean up the stone floor–at least a little bit. The Commander of the Inquisition wasn't to lay down in his own vomit. Neither was the man she _loved._

 _Loved_. The word hit her like a slam into her face. It wasn't just an infatuation. It was love... she swallowed. Oh Firgo, in what a mess have you gotten yourself into?

Cullen was chewing herbs now and his breath had become steadier, calmer, the coughing had stopped. Thank the maker.

"M-may I?", she asked, conscious again, and her hand trembled as she used a fresh cold towel to wipe the sweat from his skin, then folded it and put it on his forehead carefully. She grabbed the blankets and pillows and tried to make the hard stone ground more comfortable for him by pushing the pillow behind his back and spreading the blanket over and around him. He did neither complain, nor oppose against her efforts or soft touches, but she saw his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Do you... need anything else?"

He sighed, shook his head.

"I will... not tell anyone," she said hesitantly and he looked up again, meeting her gaze as she sat down beside him and leaned herself against the desk, arms slung around her knees.

"Thank you," the smallest smile appeared on his face, "for everything," and he closed his eyes. Slowly, his body relaxed.

And then she felt his hand, touching, searching for hers, until he found it and his fingers closed around hers, squeezing, and through all the fear and pain and helpfulness, her heart skipped a beat as she felt his warmth, bare skin, damp and sweaty, and _soft_.

Sometime later her thumb began to draw idle circles on his palm.

"I miss her," he whispered and she swallowed, then squeezed his hand again. "I miss her so much."

"I know," she whispered back.

_Maker, I never recognized how lonely he is._

They sat until his breath came in a steady rhythm, followed by a soft snore; he had fallen asleep. She watched him silently, heart still pounding and she felt her love for this man growing again with each passing minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very dear to me. Hope you like it. _hides_


	5. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things between Cullen and Lavellan start to change, but it takes a while. And in between there will be a lot of frustration, anger and fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long delay. This one was a struggle, but I think it's okay now... and we need to move on! :D

* * *

 

 

"Hey! Watch it!" Rocthar yelled as he stumbled backwards and landed, ass first, in the mud. Firgo's dagger had been so close at his throat, he still felt the sharp breath of air, caused by the weapon's swift movement.

Andraste's tits. What was wrong with her? He jumped up and hurled his giant sword into the dirt, almost piercing the elf's foot; she followed the angry motion with lifted brows, then rolled her eyes. She hadn't even twitched.

"Fuck, are you crazy?" the Qunari yelled again, barely able to contain his anger as he moved towards the much smaller woman, until his huge form was built up in front of her. She had to stretch her neck to look up to him, and she did, arms folded across her chest in a stubborn gesture, refusing to show the slightest hint of being intimidated.

"What?" she asked and her tone was so provocative that he blew out a breath, resisting the urge to grab and shake her.

"What's wrong with you?"

"What should be wrong?"

"Andraste's tits, you know what I mean. You could have killed me. You're not concentrated!" he snarled.

"I _am_ concentrated. I know what I'm doing, and I didn't hurt you, or did I? When did you become such a whiner?" she shot back.

"And when did you become so aggressive?"

"Maybe when you two idiots wrote me into that stupid _voluntary_ _assignment_?!" she spat the words out.

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. "Yeeees I know, we did, and _you_ haven't even thanked us." Maker, she was still upset about _that_? _Ungrateful woman._

"Just shut it."

"What? Isn't that what you wanted? You're making heart eyes at the commander the whole day. But you never _act_ on it! Tell me–who is the idiot?"

She snorted, then stared at him. "You have _no_ idea... asshole!" Tears formed in her eyes and she blinked and rubbed them, obviously trying to hide it, and Rocthar cursed silently.

"Firgo, what's–"

"He isn't interested in having me around, okay?" she shouted, no longer caring about the tears that now streamed down her face. "He doesn't look at me, doesn't even greet me! I'm nothing but an unwelcome disturbance! _That's_ what you've gotten me into. _Thank you very much_!"

The warrior swallowed, he felt his anger turning into guilt already. Shit. "Hey," he tried again, his voice much softer than before, "hey sweetie, I'm sorry–"

"Ah, fuck off!" she yelled and tossed her own daggers onto the ground and left her friend where he stood without another word. He stared at the daggers; he felt numb. And speechless.

Maybe they'd really gone too far this time by pushing her into that assignment and forcing her into the role of being Commander Cullen's adjutant.

 

*****

 

"Shit", Firgo first cursed, then yelped in sudden pain as she kicked against a wall on her way through the inner yard of Skyhold.

Stupid Rocthar, stupid Ariakus, it was all their fault. And yet he was right, of course she _had_ wanted to take the chance to get closer to the Commander, but... ah, everything had gone wrong. She was stupid, and–

–and a quick gaze into the sky told her it was time for breakfast soon.

Oh no.

She could just bring it later. Who would care about it? Cullen wouldn't even recognize it, that was for sure. He probably wouldn't even recognize if she would skip it completely.

Ah, she was being unfair, and she knew it. And it made her even angrier at that point.

She was unfair to Rocthar and Ariakus, who were her best friends and had only wanted to help her.

She was unfair to Cullen, who was her superior, and who was sick and just tried to manage his duties _and_ the lyrium withdrawal _and_ the loss of his love.

Yes, she knew she was unfair. But life was unfair to her as well.

She cursed again as she realized that she was on her way back to the barracks, which were full of soldiers during this early time. Bad idea. One single, if only whispered _knife ear_ today and she would probably kill someone. No, she corrected herself and groaned in frustration, she _wouldn't_ , because she'd left her daggers in the training yard. Oh, no no no, not her precious daggers. What was wrong with her? This whole situation would drive her crazy one day!

She turned around to go back, hesitated, then decided otherwise. She didn't want to–no she couldn't face Rocthar again, not yet, only thinking of him raised her guilty conscience already. But he know how much the weapons meant to her. He... would take care of her weapons. Hopefully.

For a moment, she stood there, indecisive, useless, then she turned around and walked towards the battlements with fast steps. She needed to calm down–and she knew the perfect place for that.

 

*****

 

Half an hour later she sat on the top of one of Skyhold's highest towers–the only one that wasn't restored yet, probably because the damage was just too immense, she assumed. Said tower was unused, not even guards came there on their patrol. It could only be reached by some bold climbing, but Firgo had always been a passionate climber. So it had become an attractive and private place for her, and her alone. No stolen glances, no quiet laughter, no whispered insults. Just silence.

She took a deep breath, relishing the feel of the cold and clear air, filling her lungs sharply. The air and the peaceful sight over the massive frostback mountains helped her to calm down.

Fortunately, because just few minutes were left until she had to go to the kitchen and get Cullen's meal. Of course she wouldn't be late. She sighed.

The last days had been awful. When she'd found Cullen sick almost a week ago, she'd stayed until he had finally regained enough strength to climb the ladder himself. Luckily, it had been late already and she had only two other messengers to chase away while watching over him. Still, she wondered if or rather in what form gossip would come back to her finally. She hadn't told anyone–he'd taken the promise from her again before she'd left him.

The next day, she had brought his breakfast with mixed feelings and a pounding heart. She was worried, downright terrified about the health state of the commander, but there was also something else: a glimmer of hope, a hope that everything would be different now–that he would like her at least a little, that he would talk to her, tell her about himself, his withdrawal, his struggles, _anything_ , or, if he still was sick, that he would at least allow her to help, to be there for him again, that... ah, she didn't even know what she had hoped, but... he'd held her hand after all, and they'd shared a moment of _really_ being close.

But instead, he'd barely recognized her that day, and the following days as well–even less than before. Had taken the food with a whispered " _Out!_ " or just waved her away, if even, and had locked up the doors early in the evening, had being rude or hadn't reacted at all when she'd knocked.

And that mix of fear and hope slowly turned into a mix of fear and... anger.

She had wanted to ask, every day, the words had burnt on her tongue until they'd almost hurt–they still did. _Are you okay? Do you feel better? Can I help you? Is it always like this?_ A never ending flood of questions constantly rushing through her head and yet she didn't dare to ask a single one. Not as long as he didn't make any effort of speaking about what had happened. It was his decision after all, as much as it had been his pain.

Another thought crossed her mind. Could it be that he didn't remember? She had heard of people losing their memories after taking lyrium for a long while. It was only one of the horrible symptoms the drug caused. Awful shit! She had learned so much during the last time. Why did the chantry do such horrible things to their devoted templars?

And Cullen, maybe she should really start to mention his health state in her reports. Or talk to Cassandra directly. What if holding the information back was a terrible mistake and Cullen was more sick than he admitted? One of the things she'd learned about him was that he preferred and tried to solve his problems on his own, and that he had some difficulties to accept help. Could she really trust his own judgment?

She made a decision.

Today, she _would_ ask him all the questions that were burning on her tongue. She would insist to get to know about his withdrawal and health state. And she would tell him that she was lying for him–well, not exactly lying, but she was withholding information... what in fact _was_ lying, and she hated it; yet she did it, for _him._

And _then_ she would decide whether to talk to Cassandra or not.

She wouldn't let him send her away again.

 

*****

 

He didn't try to send her away.

As she entered his tower–back straight, determined, questions ready to be released–everything was different.

"Care to join me?" Cullen asked, and she looked up in utter surprise as she placed the tablet with the Commander's breakfast on his desk–right into his smiling face.

She blinked. Did she see right? Had she _heard_ right? Had he just...? She blinked again as she studied his face.

He looked _much_ better today. Still pale, the shadows around his eyes still dark, but not feverish anymore, his facial features relaxed, and most of all: he smiled! Maker, that smile. That _disarming, making-her-forget-about-everything-else-smile_! It wasn't fair. Her knees went weak and she resisted the urge to bite her lip. What was it that she had wanted to ask?

"Lavellan?" Cullen raised a brow. He looked... amused? Oh creators, she was standing there and stared at him like an idiot. Again.

"Oh," she said and felt herself blushing, _damn stupid_ , "I–uhm, what, join you?"

He pointed on the table where bread and cheese, grapes and fruits were waiting. "I mean, do you want to eat with me?"

"Oh!" she repeated in all her glorious wit. "thank you but uhm, _nooo_..."

"No? I thought that you–uhm, aren't you hungry, then? Did you eat already?" He asked a bit too fast, with a voice that sounded a bit higher as she was used to, and was that a fine blush that crept up his neck?

"Yes–I mean no, I didn't eat. But I'm not here to–and it's your meal, it isn't enough for–"

"Lavellan," Cullen interrupted her and pointed at the plate, the corner of his mouth twitched as he smiled, _again!_ , "look at these portions you always bring me. Maker, do you really think I'm eating _all_ of that!?"

"No. I know you don't," she mumbled, brows knitted together in confusion.

"Then sit down. Please." Now he pointed at the second chair in front of his desk, then pushed the tablet in the middle of the wooden surface.

Still, she hesitated, perplexed about the situation and that sudden change in his behavior.

"Come on," he waved again, "I won't bite." A pause. His adam's apple bopped, then he continued, "and I think I... really need to... amend some things."

Amend things? That meant actually... talking! He wanted to talk. And she was here to talk. To ask. Questions. Yes, questions.

Maker, how did that man always manage to turn her brain into squish and thus herself into a stammering dork?

"A–alright. Thank you," she mumbled and took the offered seat, finally, and her heart was pounding wildly in her chest.

They would talk. But first, the most urgent problem was: how was she supposed to take a single bite in front of this man?

 

*****

 

She couldn't.

Usually, she hadn't any problems with eating in uncomfortable situations–inside, outside, during bad weather, surrounded by friends or strangers–but now, _this_ situation was _really_ uncomfortable. She was nibbling at the same piece of bread for what felt like several minutes now, chewing the tiniest bits, while she tried and tried and _tried again_ to find a start to talk. Without success. She threw secret peeks at Cullen; he was eating, apparently calm, and she just hoped that he didn't recognize her nervousness.

Of course he did.

"Is it that bad?" he broke the silence that had settled between them while they were eating–well, or in her case, _tried to_. "Because you look like you are choking on a really bad medicine," he added and chuckled quietly.

"What?" She looked up, half expecting an amused grin, but Cullen's eyes were warm, his smile nothing but friendly. Maybe a bit uncertain, too? Well, that would explain that stupid joke.

"No, no, it's good. I was just... thinking..." she choked on that cursed small piece of bread and her hand flew up to cover her mouth as she started coughing.

"I'm sorry! Do you need help?" Cullen was about to jump off his chair, but she waved him away.

"Nooo," she coughed again, then wiped her mouth and finally swallowed the rest of the bread. She avoided his gaze, angry about herself again, about the whole situation. She was here to talk, why couldn't she? And why did her whole world revolve around this man?

"That was a stupid joke," named man said.

"Yes."

"I'm just making you more nervous," he stated.

" _Yes._ "

"I, uhm–listen... I wanted to talk to you for quite a while now," he continued.

 _And why haven't you?_ _It was hurtful. It still is_! She wanted to scream it out, yet remained silent.

"But I was too... engaged with my own... problems."

"I... saw that." She pressed her lips together and focused the table.

"Is, uhm... everything okay? You're a bit pale."

She blew out a breath, closed her eyes briefly. _Noitsnotokay!_

"No."

She heard him sigh. "Maker, I treated you like garbage, didn't I?"

Her head flew up and she stared at him. What? Did he realize this just now?

"I apologize," he said, then added quietly and more to himself, "I should really know better than intimidating and discouraging my soldiers."

And with that, something _snapped_ inside her. She couldn't say if it was the fact that, for him, she was just _one of his soldiers_? Or was it him, finally admitting–no, realizing, after all that time, how he made her feel? What she _could_ say was that in this very moment anger, frustration, everything _broke free._

"Oh, no worries about _that_ ," she all but spat out, "as you were just saying, I'm a soldier. Did you know that before that, I worked as a mercenary? That was bad treatment, I can tell you. Oh, and I was born as a city elf. I'm a _fucking knife ear._ I'm _really_ used of being treated badly by–" she just stopped herself before a very unladylike insult could leave her lips, "–by other people!"

She stared at him, eyes wide; she could watch Cullen's eyes going wider and wider the longer she talked.

"But I'm not used to this... from you..." she continued, just a tone calmer, her voice raspy and somehow strange in her own ears, "I'm coming here every day, and... and you didn't even deem it necessary to tell me at least _a little bit_ about your illness and recovery all these days. Don't you know that I was concerned? _Terrified_? So, yes, I feel like garbage! Thank you!"

She still held his gaze; he stared back, eyes wide, lips parted in utter surprise. His hands were cramped around the wood and he somewhat reminded her of a whipped dog.

For a moment, a thick, awful silence settled between them.

"Shit," she cursed, then sighed, a deep desperate tone and she finally realized what she'd just done. The snappy tone, her impudence towards one of the _leaders of the Inquisition_ , oh no, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth, still staring at him with big green eyes. He didn't say anything. Didn't move.

"Commander, sir!" she gasped, "I-I'm sorry, that w-wasn't..." She stood up in a quick movement, as if intending to flee, but he stopped her; he jumped up and grabbed her arm.

"No, wait! Please...", he called, and there was no anger, no authority in his voice, it sounded more like a _plea,_ "no... Lavellan–– _Firgo_ , there's nothing to apologize for. Maker, _I_ have to apologize. You helped me. You locked the doors and you took care of me that day, until I felt better. I believe that you also lied for me and you haven't told Cassandra anything. Right? And what have I done? I was unfriendly, every day, I just sent you away, Maker, you're completely right. I didn't even have the decency to tell you about my situation and my sickness. But you... you're still here. _Every day_."

 _Why?_ This one question remained unasked–he didn't have to. She could read it in his eyes.

"I..." she stuttered, completely baffled about the sudden change, about his sincerity, honesty. And he remembered. He remembered everything. His fingers were still crawled into her skin, not hurtful, but firm, _warm_ , as if refusing to let go of her; she swallowed and looked down her arm–he followed her gaze and seemed to realize it just now. He pulled his hand back in a rapid motion.

"I... I was _terribly_ worried," she all but whispered then, "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what was happening to you. I was so afraid... I didn't even guess that you are... so sick..."

His head dropped, eyes seemed to study the food that stood there on the desk, nearly untouched. His hand found the back of his neck, as it did so often.

"I was ashamed," he whispered, "I... still am. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I'm okay, now. If that helps. And your help, that was, Maker, you did... very _very_ well."

"So you're feeling better?"

"I do. _Much_ better."

"Is it always that bad? I mean... or could it become.... _worse_?"

"The pain comes and goes," he sighed, then straightened his back and met her gaze again. "Come, let's sit down, please," he continued, "I'll... tell you what you want to know."

She nodded. _Maker's breath, what had just happened here?_

"I was a templar," he told her then, "you know that. I gained my abilities through lyrium, like all of us. But... I decided to stop taking it a while ago. The withdrawal is... ah, let's say that it's not easy. Most the time, it's not _that_ bad, but sometimes... well, you know..." he stopped talking and looked away. There was more. And she knew exactly what–or rather who he was thinking about know.

She waited.

He sighed. "Alright. I trust that you are discrete. And you know _that_ anyway. I... may tend to push myself too far these days, even more than usual. Too much work, not enough sleep. Everything that... distracts me from... _thinking._ "

"About the Inquisitor." Oups, there the words were out, and her heart seemed to skip a beat as she watched him frowning.

"... yes."

"I'm sorry, you don't have to–"

"No, it's okay. As I was saying, you've been there for me, you've helped me. You deserve some answers." His chest swelled as he took a deep breath, then he continued, "I–I remember very well that it was you, that one morning in Val Royeaux. You... you've seen us, together. Or at least, _ah,_ you know. Well, Arya and I were involved for some time. Almost no one knew about that. Only me, her... and Blackwall. She somehow... loved... both of us. And we both knew. She was very open about that, right from the start. She never lied to me, and I admired her for that. I still do. So, both of us agreed. Maker, Blackwall and I, we even _talked_ about it once. And both of us hoped that she would... choose us in the end." He laughed, a quiet, bitter noise, and Firgo barely dared to breath. She just nodded, lips pressed together, absorbing every single word he shared with her.

"Then she made her decision–and it was Blackwall. Of course. It was always him. I... should have known that from the beginning, but", he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, "what can I say? It was–it still is hard for me to accept. Anyways, I respect it–and her. Very much so. You may think that she's a bad person for being involved with both of us, everyone who doesn't know the background could, I suppose, but she isn't. Not at all. And I don't say that because I was in love with her."

 _Was?_ _Was_ in love?

"You should really get to know her, if you get the chance. Then you will see," his eyes, maker, he smiled again and this time it _reached_ his eyes; her hope sank again. He continued, "she's... Maker, she's funny, she's kind and honest... a lovely woman. There was a time when I really thought she'd stay with me, and only me. Well, one can always hope, right?"

She nodded again. _You have no idea._

"Does that mean... do you still..." her throat was dry and she swallowed. She needed to know. Now.

For a while, he was very, very quiet. His adam's apple bobbed as he tried to find his words.

"If I still... love her?"

Another nod.

"Yes... no... I don't know. I miss her terribly. But... how can I explain this? I also feel a bit freer now. I know where I'm standing. And I know that I have to... move on. Try to, at least. If that makes any sense."

Did it? Yes, it did, she decided. And yet it hurted to hear first hand how close Commander and Inquisitor still were.

"Yes, it does... wow," she breathed, trying to ignore the little constant stitches in her heart, "thank you for telling me."

He smiled that heartbreakingly sad smile again. "Thank _you_ for not... running away. I have to admit, it doesn't feel as bad as I thought. To speak about it, that is. I'm just not used to it, I usually try to... keep my problems for myself."

"And to solve them on your own. I know," Firgo answered, earning a nod, then a lopsided smile from him.

"I...I don't know what to say, but I'm glad you've told me. Trusted me. Ah, speaking of it–" a tentative smile stretched her face, "I _have_ written all the reports for Cassandra."

"You have– _what_?"

"And then I have burnt them," the smile grew.

"Maker's breath, woman, do you want to cause a heart attack?"

"Maybe. But no worries, I haven't told her anything. Or anyone else. But..." she smirked, "I would say, now we are even."

He shook his head, but smiled, too, "Alright. I deserved that. But you're a wicked woman."

"Yep," she said, and then they grinned together, and for a moment, the world was just _wonderful_ and breathing felt _so easy_ again.

"So, uhm," Cullen cleared his throat and pointed down at the still nearly untouched meal. "I think we should eat now, right?"

"Oh, yes."

"And Firgo... about what you told me earlier. Don't believe that I've forgotten about that. I just wanted to say, you're not a... I mean, there's _nothing_ wrong about being an elf. If that helps, for me it doesn't make any difference. And I'm really sorry that your origin seems to cause you trouble. If you ever need help, please let me know."

"Oh," she blinked, "that, uhm... thank you." She'd always been able to defend herself, more or less, but he... hadn't forget about it, even more, he'd actually thought about what she'd said and that was... amazing.

"I mean it," he said, and then, "I will try to do better now. How about, uhm, if you, maybe, would join me sometimes? Eat with me, I mean?"

"Yes," she blurted out, "I mean... I would... like that."

"Me too." And his smile warmed the room again–and her heart. The big scar that crossed his lip curled a bit as he smiled, and she couldn't look away. And she also couldn't resist to imagine how it would feel against her own lips.

She had learned so much about that man and his many, many nuances today, and though they'd had a pretty rough start, she could feel that things were about to become... better. Easier.

Maybe she would finally get the chance to really know him. It had already started today, and would hopefully continue in the future.

For now, three things wouldn't leave her mind.

She hadn't ever see him smiling as often as today.

He didn't dislike her.

And he had called her _Firgo_. _Twice_.


	6. Rituals

* * *

 

Cullen sighs as he tries to sort the many new letters and parchments on his desk in different categories–urgent, can wait another day, nonsense. No matter how much he works, his desk is always _full_ –how can that be?

He's going to get a headache. He can feel the pressure, the subtle little stitches of pain in the back of his head already, and he just hopes that it'll stay on a bearable level. It's going to be a long day. _Another_ long day.

As much as he loves his work, the purpose he's found here, being the leader of the Inquisition's forces, sometimes he wishes he could just enjoy the simpler things. By this time, in fact, his duties consist mainly of paper work, strategies, reading and organizing.

He stretches his muscles. They ache for more body work, and so does his soul. The daily sparring sessions are precious to him, but they aren't enough. He wants to visit the trainings field more often, like he used to, back when the Inquisition hasn't been such a great force as it is now. Having some good fights, sparring with his soldiers, with friends, lead and supervise their training for longer than just an hour or two a day.

Or leaving Skyhold, traveling the world, fighting where the real battles are happening. A romantic thought. There has been a time where he's dreamt of this on a daily base. Of traveling together with the Inquisitor. And although these days are over now, his heart still does that little jump whenever he thinks of Arya Trevelyan.

But it's slowly getting better. She's back at Skyhold now and seeing her again, talking to her, if in private or professional situations at the war table or during a troop inspection–he's feared all of that since she's left the keep. But then–probably for the first time since their break up–actually meeting her hasn't left him despaired, devastated. Thank the Maker.

They are still far away from becoming friends again, and he doesn't know if they ever will, if they can ever be, though he hopes so, and he _feels_ that there could be a chance. He can't–and he doesn't want to imagine a life without her. He misses their time together. The stories they've shared, about her travels, his training, everything, often accompanied by gossip and laughter. The chess games. The many strategic planning and discussions, bent over the war table for hours and still making jokes. No, he doesn't want to miss one of these things. He just needs some time.

Anyways, working with her _has_ already become somewhat easier, and he feels freer now, like he can _breathe_ again, even when she's near.

Something has changed.

*****

A knock at the door rips him out of his thoughts.

"Good morning, Commander," Firgo greets him as she enters the room, and her eyes are scanning him, briefly–they always do. He doesn't like it but he knows that she's still concerned about his health state, so he lets her. Then the moment is over and she smiles that big broad smile, and it's as infectious as always, and he finds himself smiling back almost automatically.

She's pretty, even more so when she smiles.

"Just look what I got us! Some cold roast for breakfast, isn't that nice?" She literally beams, and he nods and smiles about her enthusiasm, clearing his desk quickly.

"That's great, how did you manage that?" he agrees as she places the plate between them. There isn't only roast, but also fresh bread, a steaming and delicate smelling sauce, and some vegetables–it _really_ looks delicious.

"Maybe the lady cook just likes me," she says and the corner of her mouth twitches– _what's that?–_ then she takes her seat with something that looks pretty much like a mischievous smile. He grins back.

The roast is fantastic, the cook must really like her. Or, more likely, she's sneaked into the kitchen and has stolen the food that has meant to be served to the noble folks which is currently residing at Skyhold. Yes, her expression is telling him the story, she isn't very subtle in hiding it.

He observes her as she shoves a large piece of meat into her mouth. She doesn't ask anymore if he likes her to join him–she doesn't have to, for it has become like a ritual between them and for a week or two now, she's started to bring two portions on a regular base.

"You've got a headache," she breaks the silence and looks up, meeting his gaze.

He blinks in surprise. _Maker's breath, how has she noticed?_

 _It's nothing_ , he wants to say," How do you always _know_ that?" he actually says, curious and somewhat astounded.

"You move different, hm, more carefully, when you're hurting, and your face, it tells me and, uhm, sorry, I've just sensed it," she shrugs and smiles a bit shyly, "shall I get your herbs?"

"Oh, you don't have to–" he says and stops as she just raises a brow. He shakes his head, giving in. "Alright," he can't help but chuckles, "thank you."

He watches her as she climbs up the ladder. No chance to discuss with that woman, she's shown him her stubbornness often enough. It's somewhat strange. She really seems to care about him, and somehow she manages to not making him feel like being... mothered.

Not to speak of the fantastic sight she gives on her rear side as she's climbing up to his private room with swaying hips. Or these incredibly long legs. He swallows. Inappropriate. Completely utterly inappropriate. And yet he can't help himself but stares until she disappears from his sight.

"On your night table?", she calls down from upstairs her voice ripping him out of his thoughts, and he smiles, "yes."

"You should take them earlier," she continues, "not when the pain is already there, but when it just _begins_. That might help a lot, I think."

"Yes, probably," he mumbles, then adds, "thank you." And again he finds himself wondering about the strange relationship they've built up. He hasn't treated her well at the beginning, and Maker, he's still regretting that. But she? She has just continued to bring his meals, has swallowed his refusal and bad behavior, mostly with just a friendly smile, though he knows now how much it has hurt her. She's... fascinating. Somehow strong and vulnerable at the same time, and... never giving up.

Now they are sitting here, comfortable with each other, together, eating, talking about everything and nothing, laughing, and all of that on a daily basis.

And he doesn't want to miss it. Maker, he has been lonely. Has been seeking solitary, has neglected his friends instead of reaching out for their support in times where he really would have needed a friend.

Well, now here is one, he thinks. When they are together like this even their ranks don't seem to matter. Well, not anymore. It has taken some time for her to speak to him on one eye level, she still can't do it always, but it's getting better with each passing day–and he likes what lies beneath the shy, intimidated lieutenant. Very much so.

He wants to do something for her, too. Giving something back. Maker, she has helped him so much!

"That's _really_ delicious," he says, smiling, as she returns and sits down again, handing him the herbs.

"Right?" She looks up, her eyes are sparkling. "That cook..."

"Of course," he laughs. "The cook. You know, you don't have to _steal_ us the good food. Maybe just let me invite you the next time?"

She coughs, "I didn't...I... hey! What?" and all of a sudden she's that stuttering mess again that he's already began to miss a bit; he shoves a bunch of herbs into his mouth and grins when she mumbles, "okay, yes, I–I did. Ah, shit, how in the maker's name did you find out? Ahh, I'm so sorry, it just looked and _smelled_ _so great!"_ A pause, she covers her eyes with her hands, then her brows are knitting together, and he still watches her and grins, it's _hilarious_. She clears her throat, then stares at him.

"Did you... did you just... ask me out?"

He shrugs. "Yes. Why not? It's probably not quite _that_ good, but we could go to the Herald's Rest and eat there, maybe? Taking an evening off, when work allows? If–only if you'd like to, that is."

"I-uhm... I don't know," she hesitates and starts fumbling with her long hair.

"What's wrong?"

"People... the other soldiers, they, uhm, they will gossip. And the..." she bits her lip and stops. He waits, but she remains silent. Something is bothering her, obviously, but though he wants to ask, he decides otherwise. If she wants to, she'll... tell him.

But gossip. Of course. He can understand why she's hesitating, maybe it's a stupid idea. But on the other hand–people are gossiping anyway. All the time. About everything and everyone. A brief stitch of being rejected hits him, but it's unreasonable. She likes him, he _knows_ she does.

"It's not that I don't want to. I want... I really do," she says then, and his heart jumps a little as she speaks out what he's been thinking, "and well... people are gossiping anyway. I... I will think about it, okay?"

"Of course. And if you don't feel like it, it's okay, too, alright?" He says softly, but secretly hoping she'll say yes.

They're almost finished with their meal, and as she leaves his office a short time later, she smiles at him again. "Thank you, Cullen. I'll _definitely_ think about it."

"Alright," he nods, and she doesn't just smile then, she literally _beams_ , and then she's gone.

He rubs his forehead. Then looks down at the small pouch of herbs, and a smile stretches his face as well.

His headache has become _much_ better.


	7. Friends in high places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many things have already happened to Firgo Lavellan, Inquisition Guard and new assigned adjutant to Commander Cullen Rutherford. Many reasons to be confused and feeling awkward, but of course she had never intended to stumble into a strange conversation with Blackwall, of all people! But the warrior is always good for a surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written this as one of the first pieces even before we decided to make a multichap-fic out of it. But chronological it fits here. It's set after "Revelations" and "Judgement" and belongs in the time when in my Arya Trevelyan-Canon the Inquisitor is on her first mission after making the decision to stay with Blackwall - she leaves him back at Skyhold to recover and gain his old strength after the long time in prison. This is the reason Blackwall is at the keep and works with the Inquisition-Soldiers and not yet back to be a fix part of every mission party.

 

* * *

 

„Makers balls, lass! Watch your fucking back!“ Blackwall growled while he stretched out his huge hand to help the blond Elven guard up after he had been able to strike her down by kicking her into her knees from behind with no effort.

„Name’s Lieutenant Firgo Lavellan.  _Ser_.“ She snapped back but grabbed the offered hand and let him help her up. One could think about Blackwall what ever. But he was great to spar with and she always had appreciated his lessons. But today she clearly had been distracted and she was angry with herself that a superior had caught her off guard. But right the moment when Blackwall had started his attack she had recognized an all too familiar red coat in the corner of her eye pacing by on his way to whereever. He had not even been looking for her, but all in a sudden she had felt her ears burn and she could not decide if she wanted that Cullen noticed her or better the opposite.

„Well then Lieutenant Firgo Lavellan. I can think that our dashing Commander may be distracting but I’d suggest you better spare your hearteyes for a time when no one with a sword tries to strike you down.“ Blackwall almost chuckled.

Firgo thought she would pass out immediately and desperately eyed around if any of her comrades was witnessing this exchange. But everyone was busy sparring and at least he had kept his voice low enough to stay discreet.

„I haven’t...“ his smirk got broader when she began to stutter excuses. „I mean... I didn’t want to... ahhhh... _fuck_!“ She raised her daggers again, eager to distract the warrior from this embarrassing conversation by resuming the training. Of course he was right but she felt awkward as hell that it had been Blackwall of all people who recognized her thing for Commander Cullen. She could not imagine that those two men would be on friendly terms with each other. Both in love with the Inquisitor and she? Having the weirdest crush ever on her leading Officer - Ser Cullen Rutherford. It was all weird and confusing and awkward.

And now that she was constantly on duty -  _assigned as Cullens’ adjutant by the mighty Seeker herself_ \- to provide him with three meals a day and taking care he eats them, the life of Firgo Lavellan had become really complicated. Dealing with all those leading officers every day made her nervous. First thing ever she had learned in her career had been to stay away from trouble. Second lesson had been that the higher the rank, the bigger the trouble to expect.

_But his eyes_... So sad and from the color of honey... she almost sighed when ever she thought of Cullen.

Now Blackwall really chuckled. „I see there is no sense to talk into you today. Let’s call this a lesson of life and grab a bite before we all need to attend our next duties.“ He made a huge gesture with his sword that seemed to include the whole training ground. „ENOUGH!“ he shouted and the soldiers let down their weapons. „You all did a good job today. See you tomorrow!“ and with this he was already about to turn away and head down to his workshop when suddenly...

„Forgive me, Ser...  _Blackwall_ it is... still?“ Firgo maybe was more surprised than him, when suddenly the words rushed from her with another awkward blush. He shifted his weight from one foot to another. His whole body telling how uncomfortable he was, being asked about his name. „Yes, I decided to keep Blackwall as a kind of title, Lieutenant. May I ask why you want to know?“

„I... I thought... well, I mean…” she stuttered. „It's never wrong to know how to address someone.”

He nodded. „Granted. But why do I have the impression you still have something to ask different from that?” He had led people. And before the incidents that had brought him in disgrace, he had been a good leader. So he could feel that this lady had something heavy on her chest. Under normal circumstances he would have sent her to her superior because it was basically not his job but Blackwall had the feeling, that this very superior might be the cause of the obviously needed talk. He showed her a professional but friendly smile and patted her shoulder. „Come on lass, get it off your chest. What is it?”

Firgo let out a deep sigh. Was she really that readable? This man was not even her leading officer and far from being a friend, but he must have seen that she was really kind of desperate and so he had offered an open ear.

But maybe… her thoughts were dashing through her mind. Maybe opening up to him would give her some insights that she so desperately needed to handle all this mess that was bothering her more than she was willing to admit.

A quick glance left and right. All her comrades were already gone and they stood together casually so nobody could suspect the private nature of their talk. Firgo inspected her gloves with an intensity Blackwall was sure she would be able to draw them without reference afterward. He just waited patiently until she eventually muttered. „He asked me out.”

„What? Who?” The warrior was confused.

„Cullen.”

„So what? I would have assumed you'd like that. Or am I wrong? Do you feel uncomfortable with it?” Now  _he_  was feeling awkward. This conversation had gone way too far out of his comfort zone all in a sudden.

„Yes…  _nooooo_!” desperation in her green eyes and her voice. „I would love that so much. But… you know… ahh!  _Crap_! Maybe we should just forget anything and move on.”

„We could. But now you caught my interest. What do you mean, lass?”

„Promise me you won't get mad at me.” she begged and he made a  _tsking_  noise to show that he would never think of something like that.

„It's because of the Inquisitor...” she stopped before she could stumble over her own words.

Blackwall frowned not knowing if he liked where this was going. „Arya? Wait, about what are we talking here?”

Firgo was already thinking about running. Feeling completely intimidated by her own boldness and her first instinct was to flee. „Forgive me, I'm feeling like an idiot. I just know what the gossip speaks and I should not take it for facts. That was completely stupid, Ser. I need to apologize.” She was already about to leave but a huge hand suddenly touched her shoulder. Surprisingly soft and his deep voice was comfortably calm all in a sudden.

„Don't you worry, Lieutenant. I know about Arya and the Commander.” she already opened her mouth but his frown and suddenly sad eyes kept her from rambling without thinking of the consequences. „I was told it is over and I have no reason to believe otherwise. So if the Commander asks you out, I don't see any reason  _here_  not to do it.”

She recognized the emphasizing. „What do you mean?”

Blackwall sighed. „Do I really need to explain that, lass? I mean I understand that you are fond of him. But when I had people under my command, I never, and I  _really_ mean never hooked up with anyone serving under me. But this is only my opinion of the matter. Maybe Cullens view varies, I can't speak to that. Or judge him.”

„I'm afraid.” Firgos cheeks burned.

„Of what? And Maker helps you lass, if you come along with awkward questions. I won't tell you how to get laid properly. Ask your comrades for advice if it's that.”

„Don't you worry.” something between snappy and stubborn. „I perfectly know how to handle that.”

„So why bothering me?” he snapped back, but under his mustache she could see a corner of his lip curl up.

„I mean she is the  _Inquisitor_ … how can I follow this incredible large footsteps? I'm a nobody. I can't close rifts. Don't save the world. And what will she say if she learns? She will  _hate_  me. Kick me out of the Inquisition...”

„Ah, lass.” now he openly grinned. „Don't you worry. Cullen knows that you are not the Inquisitor, I'm sure of it. And if it helps you… maybe I can drop a few lines in my next letter about all this and I'm sure, she won't be mad at you. And beside that: Never think that you are a nobody. We all are important in this war. We all fight for the same. And you, little lady. You are maybe the one who might not only support the war with your dagger skills but also helps the Commander of our troops be the best he can be.”

Firgo was stunned. „That is too kind of you.” she stuttered. „I mean, I thought you must  _hate_  Cullen...”

Blackwall shrugged. „I was not always happy with what we had. But I would prefer not to go into further details… My offer stands. Take it or leave it. Really I don't want anything bad to anyone so if it makes you happy to go on a date with the Commander, I really don't think you should worry about Arya, but more about your comrades when they catch wind.”

Firgo was surprised. She had never expected a talk like that with the broody warrior and though she still could not understand why just anyone would chose him over Cullen, she slowly caught a glimpse of the reasons the Inquisitor might have had when she did.

„I'll keep that in mind, Blackwall. And thank you for your offer. I would be more than glad if you would tell her in your next letter. I think it could not harm if she knows.”

„It's settled then. Now off with you lass. I'm sure you are already late for something. Don't get your ass kicked because you chatted too long with an old grumpy soldier.”

And she ran.


	8. Because I love him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya Trevelyan has returned from her latest Mission back to Skyhold. After what was a rollercoaster of feels lately many things seem to settle right now and the Inquisitor finds things changing as she comes back. 
> 
> Getting to know the person who was assigned to watch over Cullen while she was gone is one of the things she really wants to do and so a very interesting talk at the Herald’s Rest begins.
> 
> So have here this little girls-talk which aready means a lot to me so I hope you enjoy, too!

 

* * *

 

„Lieutenant, do you have a moment?“ Firgo jumped.  _Her_  voice. What would the Inquisitor want from her? She swirled around to see Arya Trevelyan pacing up to her with steady steps. Wearing some kind of practical armory garments like she used to wear usually while at the keep.

Firgo's thoughts were running. Checking every little move of the passed days. She had done nothing out of the ordinary. Fulfilling her duties as assigned, not missing any reports and never been late or snappy towards superiors… 

On the other hand,  _she_  would not be interested in a soldiers’ daily work, but her  _other_  assignment must be  _utterly_  interesting to the Inquisitor... Her extra duties as Cullen's Adjutant… - Firgo suddenly held her breath.  _Cullen's_ _breakdown?_  And how she had been the one to be there and help him? Firgo had mentioned nothing in her weekly reports towards Cassandra and she knew this had been against explicit orders but after Cullen's wish. So if Arya knew anything it could only be himself talking about it. Had Cullen already talked to the Inquisitor now that she had returned to Skyhold? About his struggles and his Lyrium withdrawal? About  _her, Firgo,_ helping him? And if so? What had he told her? Would  _she_  tell Cass about the missing parts of her report? And most important: Had Cullen told the Inquisitor that he had asked her, _the little guard_ , out lately? Now that he had recovered and seemingly finally had accepted that she was looking after him?  

Or maybe Blackwall had just kept his word and had mentioned her in his last letter...

To be honest, Arya Trevelyan had a whole bunch of reasons to call her out!

Firgo's heart was beating fast and frightened but she managed to answer with a more or less blank face: „Inquisitor, of course.“

The two women could not be more different. One Human the other one Elfen. One black haired with her rakish sidecut and the utterly un-noble face tattoo that was circling her left eye, the other blonde with beautiful long hair that she refused to bind together most of the time and - uncommon enough for a Dalish - no Vallaslin. One with sparkling violet, the other with bright green eyes. A Mage known to have a quick temper and bristling storm spells fast at hand and a Rogue, carrying two daggers on her back as she just came from her shift. The leader of the Inquisition and one of her soldiers.

Firgo was tall for an Elf, the two women could have looked each other straight into the eyes now as they walked alongside over the battlements in silence. Not that Firgo dared to, but she could have...

„Care for an ale, Lieutenant?“ Arya asked and Firgo could only nod, as she felt she could not find a single word. They turned towards the Heralds Rest and found a quiet table on the upper level.

„I know you.” Arya finally said with a smirk and Firgo almost gasped. Was this a good or a bad start? What was the Inquisitor up to? Her stomach clenched in another rush of excitement and also a good part fear. Usually it was nothing good to be known by the higher ranks (as long as you didn't aspired to be promoted, but Firgo had no such intentions whatsoever.)

„Inquisitor?” she finally was able to ask in a neutral and calm voice, despite the fact that her breath was going fast and shallow and her thoughts were still running.  _'please, please, please don't remember me from this morning in his office in Val Royeaux'_ she sent a silent prayer into the void.

Arya Trevelyan smiled. Friendly.

„Yes, I remember you from the recent mission to Val Royeaux. You were part of the team and you usually hang out with that clumsy Vashoth and that skinny Mage.

„Rocthar and Ariakus?” Firgo was baffled. She never had assumed that the Inquisitor ever paid attention to the guards protecting her. But Arya nodded.

„Tell your Mage friend he has some real badass ice-spells on his backhand, I really liked how he handled his skills in brawl. And you, Firgo was it?” The Elf nodded, still totally confused. „I saw you with your blades. Good work. I like how you have no fear to go into where the thickest heat of battle is. Just always remember to have someone protecting you from the heavy blows. Can be crucial, but I guess your Vashoth friend Rocthar is the perfect tank.”

„Aye, thank you, Inquisitor.” her eyes were studying the wavy grain of the tables’ wood, hand clenching around her tankard.

„Name's Arya. No need for too much protocol. I have enough of this during my duties. I just wanted to get to know you.”

Firgo's eyes jumped up from the table to meet Arya's and the Elfen guards' brows rose in surprise.

„And why is that?” she asked, a good part suspicion in her voice that she was not able to control.

„Let's say we care for the same person?” Arya's smile was not saucy, not daring and first of all not evil. It was the plain smile of someone who simply meant what she just said.

But Firgo was still not sure how to reply. Her feelings for Commander Cullen were her best kept secret and already far beyond  _'caring'_. And though she knew some fragments about the relationship the Inquisitor had or still was having with him, she really was not sure how to deal with what was happening now. Maybe it was all a test. Pulling secrets out of her and then kicking her out for crossing the Inquisitors path. O _ne could never know_ … and never be too careful! So Firgo kept silent and just looked at the Inquisitor with her big green eyes over her tankard that she had raised to her lips to gain herself a few more time before she had to answer.

Arya's nose wrinkled as she smiled.

„You are right. If I was in your place, I probably would keep my mouth shut, too. You know nothing about me and what my intentions are. I'm not only a kind of leading officer to you but the leader of this whole Inquisition thing and if I were you, I would be suspicious as hell, no matter what I'd be told.” Still no reply. „Listen, I know you are assigned as Cullen's Adjutant. Cass told me,  _he_  told me himself. Even Blackwall wrote about you in his last letter. So at least I know your name and what you are supposed to do and in addition I have some vague hints that you are doing a good job.“ Firgo was about to object but Arya made her wait with a little soothing gesture with her hand and a little wink from her eyes while she resumed. „You, on your account, may know - or better  _assume_ \- a lot of things about  _me_. Maybe I can tell you a few things that help you see the whole picture, but I'm very positive that both we do care for Cullen and since I saw him looking now a lot better than the was last time I met him, it seems you are  _really_  doing a good job, after all.”

„I don't do  _anything_.” Firgo's reply was almost snappy. She would never have called it a  _job_  but first of all she desperately tried to avoid the Inquisitor getting the idea she was hitting on the Commander. „I just bring him his meals and see that he eats them.” she objected. Impossible to tell Arya about the moments when he was sick, devastated, desperate. Moments when she had been there for him when the Inquisitor wasn't. Firgo could not speak, Could not ask the most urgent question of all:  _'Where the fuck were you when he needed you the most?'_  But it was almost spooky. Arya seemed exactly to know what was going on in her mind. And she laughed. Not loud or disrespectful. Just a little intoxicating laughter that made Firgo want to smile, too.

„You look as if you have about one billion questions.” the Inquisitor said. „Ask right away!”

„I… I can't!” Firgo stuttered. This was so impossible, inappropriate, unthinkable. She had no idea what to do. Could she really trust that woman? She was not wrong with what she had stated. Firgo  _indeed_  had a lot of questions, but how could she just ask the Inquisitor herself about her current relationship status?!?!

„Of course you can. You even  _must,_ if you really want to know first hand what's going on.”

„But it's not my concern… I mean, it shouldn't be... But you were not there...“ Firgo felt that she was entangling herself within her own words. She felt her ears burn but but it seemed to help her that Arya was so calm and friendly. Somehow Firgo  _believed_  that the Inquisitor had no bad intentions at all. Not with her and for sure not with Cullen, what ever there might have between them.

„Maybe it's not your concern,” now Arya replied with a frown and some distant sadness showing in her eyes, „But your job is to watch over Cullen. You probably know that he and I were involved romantically of some sort.”

„You  _were_? And how can one be involved  _of some sort_?” before she could think and restrain herself, the words had rambled out of Firgo's mouth. She bit her tongue. Now it would show if Arya's talk was cheap or if she really was willing to tell facts. Firgo watched the Inquisitor closely now. She nodded. Her eyes now clearly were full of sadness but she answered.

„It was a crazy thing. You know about Blackwall and me, I guess.”

Firgo nodded. „Of course, everyone knows.”

„Not so many people know that Cullen and I were involved also for about the same amount of time…”

„Oh…  _so long_... did they...” Firgo blushed deeply. She wanted to know but how could she ask?

„Know about each other?” Arya grinned. „Yes. But share me, like  _sharing in the same bed?_  No!”

Firgo's thought her ears would catch fire immediately. „You don't have to tell me things like that.” She was not prudish but she feared that knowing so much intimate details would backfire at her one day.

„Firgo, listen!” Arya took a deep breath. „I don't want to put you into awkward places. Or force my bed stories on you. I just think sometimes people need to know a bit more of the story behind a story to have a picture.  So  _involved of some sort_ meant exactly that. He had a thing for me, I had a thing for him. As much as I had one for Blackwall. But Cullen and I decided to keep ours off the records for the sake of Inquisition's reputation, diplomacy and politics. I'm Inquisitor not by choice but by coincidences. It could have hit just anybody being at the wrong place at the wrong time at the conclave. I try to survive from day to day just as anybody else. And right now the only thing I want here is that you understand and be able to do a good job. I see you are a caring and sympathetic person. And you are smart enough to not trust anyone and trying to make your own picture. I assume, you already care as much for the Commander as I do and I want you to know that you have my full support on this.” it had been a long speech and Arya had to take a big sip to keep her voice from getting hoarse.

„But why...” Firgo tried to put her thoughts into words but could not even finish the question.

„Because I love him.” Firgo's heart sank. So fast and heavy, she was afraid Arya would be able to hear the hard and iron _'clank'_  it made when it hit the deepest grounds of her despair. Well literally, but it was the last thing she had hoped to hear.  _The Inquisitor still in love with Cullen?_  How could she ever stand against the mighty Inquisitor? And her face must have given her away.

But there must also be a twist she had overlooked so far, because Arya smiled again, soothing and encouraging of some kind. „ _No_ … not like this. Not anymore, I mean. But I'll never stop caring for him and wishing for his well being. But look at you...”  Arya teased and Firgo's blushing intensified though she had thought it would be impossible

„Inquisitor… Arya… it's not what you think…” how could she ever explain.

„Ah come on. Relax! We are women after all. And we have eyes. And a heart. He is a sweet and handsome man. Every girl who wins his heart is a lucky one. And when I say I love him I really mean it. He was my first crush when I arrived in Haven. He made it less scary for the sassy, clueless Apostate that I was… Just imagine, a _former Templar_ … He took care of me and made me feel welcome. We had all this passion and feelings and everything but in the end it was simply not enough to endure. It hurt to realize that. Still. Him probably more than me. But I would be so grateful to see him happy again. He deserves so much to find love elsewhere again.”

„You… He… Ummm… Dammit, Inquisitor!” Firgo could not help herself, everything suddenly rumbled out from her mouth. „He's still into you. Sometimes. Well, not always… but most of the time… I think. But he's eating better now. And sometimes he smiles again. I like when he smiles…. Ummm…. I should not say that! Fuck! Arya, this is all such a confusing crap. And I did not even sign up for this… like you into this Inquisitor thing...” she helplessly giggled. „Rocthar and Ariakus put me on the list. They thought it was a joke. And now look the trouble I stumbled into! Makers balls, Inquisitor, I'm so sorry, I'm rambling… just ignore me!” She grabbed her tankard with both hands and took a deep sip as if she wanted to dive into and disappear.

Arya laughed again. Loud and hearty and full of empathy and understanding.

„Now we are talking, Firgo.” she said.

„What?” Firgo was puzzled.

„This was the first real thing that you put out here today. And I admire that. Be open with me. You must have some horrible ideas of me and my behavior. You have been to Val Royeaux with us. You must have witnessed weird stuff while we were trying to rescue Blackwall”

„Y… Yes.” there was a ton of things that rushed into her mind but instead of asking what happened in Cullen's tent or behind closed doors at the Embassy, Firgo asked the oddest question of all:  „But I thought his name was Rainier?”

„Thom Rainier, yes.” Arya shrugged. „Long story. But he prefers to hold Blackwall as a kind of title. And to be honest… I still like that better than Thom...”

„Yes, I remember now... he told me something about a title when we sparred once...“ Firgo nodded. What else could she do. She was given an information overload and she still tried to figure out how to deal with it. At least she was able to think properly over her next question because she was hesitant, still thinking if it was appropriate to tell what she knew.  _But was it still a secret?_ Who knew... And at least chances were good that Arya already knew it anyway. So Firgo eventually kept on speaking after taking a deep breath to gather her courage: „And I was the guard in the office that morning… I think, you know which morning I mean?”

Impossible enough but Firgo just witnessed now the Inquisitor herself blush „Oh…  _that_  morning… I see.”

„I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't… speak about it.”

„It's fine as long as you speak to me… well… I think you already have an idea how complicated all this was… still is.” Arya took a sip from her ale and raised a brow while she looked into Firgo's eyes. The Elf could not longer hold herself.

„But how? I mean…  _Both of them_? At the same time? And they accepted that?” she raised her hand to her mouth, horrified about her own bluntness. Arya smiled.

„Is it so hard to understand? I mean they are both… ermmm…  _good men_. First it was only tempting and feeling good being coveted by two men whom I both adored. And with the time, no matter what people may think, I came to love them both. But when you realize one day that you love one of them more than the other… would it be fair to go on? Never being able to share equally, no matter how much you try? It could have been Cullen, too. But time told different.” Arya sighed deeply. „And to the accepting part… well, they obviously have. Both they knew and none of them ever tried to make my choose. So it went on like it did.” no way to tell for Firgo what Arya really was thinking about this episode of her life but what she was telling her seemed to be honest and in general Firgo knew that sometimes the craziest things in life just were simple truth. It may have been as she told her and each of them may have had their reasons to accept such an uncommon agreement. But yet...

„Ummm… well…” Firgo slid over her chair from one side to the other full of insecurity. Could she tell? But it was out before she could even finish the thought. „As I said, he’s still missing you. I had wished sometimes I could ask you to come by when he was so desperate and sick from withdrawal...” she added with a low and sad voice. „but you were never there... I’m sorry, I should not accuse you like that...“ Firgo was terrified, what was she thinking? But Arya nodded.

„I think this was our main issue. I was never there when he needed me. Only letters all the time clearly was not enough.“ She sighed and was turning her tankard in circles between her hands as if she needed the distraction from sad memories.

„But you  _had_  to go to this missions...“ Firgo did not know what else to say.

„Yes, that was what Cullen always told me. And he said if times were different we would have found an  _arrangement_  with our weird constellation of feelings...“ Arya shrugged and Firgo's eyes went even bigger in surprise. This really was one of the most complicated relationships she’d ever heard of... and one more thing startled Firgo but she was not sure how to put it politely...

„Forgive me, but how... Well... don’t think bad of me, but...I think I cannot follow you with your attraction for Rai… Blackwall...”

Arya giggled. „No offense taken, I am well aware that not everyone is into brooding bearded men. I can understand that. So you don't have to explain, why you probably like Cullen better.”

„I don't have...”

Arya winked. „Don't you worry. Whatever there might or might not be… I will never say anything as long as you are sincere. Be his friend, lover, even just his Adjutant. As long as you are good with him. He deserves to be happy at last.”

„Well, yes… of course… and please don't think… I mean… I  _like_  Blackwall. He's a great guy… err… I mean… not like  _this_. For me at last...” Firgo realized that, again, she was rambling and stuttering.

The two women looked into each others eyes and then suddenly they burst with laughter.

Firgo was surprised. Over herself. Over the Inquisitor. In a good way. Her honesty had helped her understand a few things better. Not everything. But maybe she would get the chance to ask one day – and get more answers.


	9. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen realizes that there's more than friendship between them.

The sun has just climbed over the horizon, a fresh wind is blowing and Cullen takes a deep, long breath. Cold, clear air fills his lungs as he's walking down the battlements, heading towards the training fields for his morning inspection.

Unlike many others at Skyhold he's awake for a while now, as usual he's left bed long before sunrise, and the exhausted tiredness of another restless night has already left him.

Morning. His favorite time of the day. The new day has just begun, full of work and meetings and other duties, tasks which help keeping him from thinking too much. Once more he's escaped the night, filled with bad dreams, memories, demons, creeping into his thoughts.

Morning– it's the longest time until he has to retreat into his private room, in solitary, sometimes loneliness, and silence which he craves but isn't given to him. In fact, now, here, the sound of clanking weapons, hard breaths, accompanied by yells and curses–it gives him a kind of inner peace he often can't find at night.

He's arrived at the field and greets soldiers and lieutenants with nods and _good morning_ 's. He starts watching them doing their morning training, warming up and sparring. Many of their faces do not look quite awake yet; he can see suppressed yawns, tired faces and lazy, half-hearted movements everywhere. It's alright though, within a short time fights will get more intense, more concentrated, and also more heated.

He walks through the lines of fighting soldiers, gives advices and yells instructions here and there, and overall he's pleased with what he observes. They've made a quite good progress, and he knows that he can be proud of the army they've formed. Proud that part of this–and not a small part–is his doing.

Blond hair peeks out of a soldier's helmet, and his heart beat increases just a little bit as he believes to see Lavellan–but it isn't her. They all are wearing the formal Inquisition soldier's outfit and their helmets, as they are supposed to during their training. That doesn't make it quite easy to find the young elf, and he admits to himself that he's in fact looking for her. Hoping to see her.

He spots her shortly after and the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

She's quite an example of tiredness and discontent, mouth pinched, eyes dark-shaded, shoulders hanging deep. She's sparring with a huge qunari, Rocthar, he remembers the name of the giant soldier. Cullen knows him as an impressive and skilled opponent, but right now his movements seem to be more playful, far away from a real fight, adapted to Firgo's slow and idle counters. Cullen bites the inside of his lower lip to suppress an amused smile as she lowers her weapon and stretches her muscles with a loud yawn. No, definitely not a morning person.

But he knows that her stance will change soon, and with that her fighting style. He has seen many times how capable she is. Fast and deadly, well-trained with her daggers, fierce and skilled in her movements. As soon as she'll be really awake, these lazy attempts will change–into a _dance_. A grumpy face into confident smiles. Curses and moans into laughter, and... louder curses as well.

He continues his way, keeps the distance between them. They've become more than commander and soldier lately, and he is glad, almost _proud_ to call her a _friend_ , but here and now there's no place for privacy. Here, they have to fulfill their roles. Both of them.

And yet he can't stop his gaze from wandering back to her several times.

She's a good fighter, and besides that, one of this kind of beauty who can take away a man's breath away with only a smile.

Just as this thought crosses his mind, she turns her head–as if she _knows_ –and catches his eyes, and she _smiles_.

Maker, that smile. A tingling sensation rises deep in his stomach as he focuses on her over the distance and he can't do anything but _smile back_ , and the whole place seems to be somehow… _brighter_. More colorful.

And this is when realization hits him like a _slap_ in his face. A thought, a feeling that has lingered just below the surface, always there but yet out of reach. He swallows and grips the hilt of his sword harder as the world fades around him and, just for a moment, he only sees her.

She's _more_ to him than a friend.

Commander. Soldier. Human. Elf. Barriers between them. Somehow... it does not matter anymore.

He recognizes that he's still staring at her. He straightens his back and gives her a small nod, then turns around–s _lowly_ , _Cullen, slowly–_ and tries to maintain the impression that he's only watching his troops. So many thoughts are swirling through his head all of a sudden and his heart is pounding hard and fast in his chest.

_Maker's breath._

The last time he's felt something like this has been back when he's met Arya, not so long ago, and it's quite a surprise for him–he hasn't expected to find–to feel it _again_. Or at least not _here_. Not _now_. But there it is, and he doesn't know how to handle it.

He doesn't even know if she has someone, somewhere, waiting for her. Or here at Skyhold. He's never seen her being close to anyone though, except from these two guys she's always hanging around with, but both of them seem to be her friends, not lovers. He can't tell it for sure, though. Anyways, he's never asked her, and she has never talked about it.

But _could_ there be any chance that she, maybe... might feel the same?

As he continues his walk, he thinks back of the time they've spent together. Her behavior and true concern when he's been sick. The way she's held his hand. Her pain and anger when he's refused to talk to her the following days. Her shyness, the way she sometimes stumbles over her words–he's always thought their ranks have been the only reason for this, but... maybe they aren't.

Could it be possible?

_Don't be stupid, you're just seeing what you're aching for. You're not that sort of lucky man. It'll just be another disappointment. Just more pain. Back in time, Arya hasn't chosen you, and neither will she. Not with your past, not that broken and damaged man that you are. She's far out of your reach._

He blinks and tries to chase dark memories, whispering demons away. He's more than that; he _can be_ more than that!

But still, they linger, and he sighs as he leaves the field to retreat to the solitary of his tower and the bunch of paperwork that lies before him.

Maker, he needs to figure these feelings out. And what all this is supposed to mean. For him. Or for them, maybe.

And a cold shower.

 

*****

 

Morning. Ugh. It's her least favorite time of the day. The struggle never gets better; leaving warmth and lulling sheets, vivid dreams, pushing herself out of the bed and getting ready for a new day. At such a damned unholy early hour.

"Ugh, let's take a break," she mumbles with a shameless yawn and stretches tired limbs, stiff and sore from the cold.

"Tired already?" Rocthar grins as he turns down his giant two-handed axe.

"No... _still_ ," she grumbles, "I want to sleep. This is torture."

He opens his mouth and she rolls her eyes, ready to take his daily mockery, but then his eyes fixate on a point somewhere behind her and he waggles his brows. "Someone is watching you," he teases in a singing voice, and Firgo–suddenly wide awaken–straights her back and suppresses the urge to turn her head, and a smile replaces the frown on her face in an instant.

"Who?"

Her friend gives her a look as if she's insane, causing her to grin even wider.

"You're telling me crap," she says, then adds, "...really?"

"Keep fighting, young lady, and don't forget to look pretty," the Qunari grins and raises his weapon for a new attack, causing her to duck down with a surprised gasp, "He still does."

"You're sure he's looking at _me_?" she asks and counters his next strike with less elegance than she's been aiming for. Dang it.

"Oh yes," he snickers, "and he looks like a fool in love."

Her head turns around almost automatically now, and she finds him at once, standing between the troops in all his glory, maker he's _beautiful_ , and she knows that even if he wouldn't wear that impressive armor, her eyes would never miss him.

And he is in fact, looking at her. And he _in fact_ looks like a fool in love, and she can't look away. Instead, her lips are stretching into a broad smile.

He smiles back, and for a moment she simply forgets how to breathe. But then the moment passes by and he nods towards her, then turns around and walks away.

"W-what..." she stutters.

Her imagination has played her a trick, or hasn't it?

"Pinch me," she sighs. Then, " _ouch,_ hey!"

"You've asked for it. And no, it's not a dream."

Isn't it?

Is there's any chance that he, maybe... might feel the same? Is it possible? Could they...?

_Maybe, but better don't raise your hopes. It's too good to be true, Firgo._

She blinks and takes a deep breath, trying to soothe her pounding heart, but her hands won't stop trembling.

"I need a cold shower," she says.


End file.
